


Padding

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Nesting, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25299199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Lindir brings Elrond blankets.
Relationships: Elrond Peredhel/Lindir
Comments: 10
Kudos: 149





	Padding

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He holds the key to Elrond’s quarters, and it fumbles through his fingers as he balances the stack of fresh linens in his other hand. He’s one of few to carry a copy, and this is one of the few times it’s even necessary—doors generally aren’t locked within the sanctity of Imladris. But it’s that time of year again, when their lord smells even more intoxicating than usual, and that sweetness billows out into the corridor, beckoning so many wayward elves. Lindir is immensely honoured that he’s trusted to overcome that, even though it claws at him as boldly as his peers.

More so, even. The heat needn’t come for Lindir to long for his lord. A swell of pride and pleasure rushes into him every time he steps across the threshold and into Elrond’s private chambers. He carefully closes the door behind him, and then he drifts forward with new blankets folded in his outstretched arms. 

Elrond is in the same place he was several hours ago, when the dizziness first took him and Lindir had to help him to his bed. Perched in the very middle of his mattress, he’s dressed down into his dressing gown, silken hair combed loose and free. He’s woven his sheets into a neat mesh around the perimeter—shallow walls of soft duvet and comforter. Lindir comes to the edge of it and holds out his offering, announcing, “I have brought more material for your nest, my lord.”

There’s a slight pause before Elrond answers—uncharacteristic of him—and there’s a thinness in his deep voice when he murmurs, “Thank you.” His lashes are half lowered, his cheeks a pretty red, his handsome face somehow even more alluring than it always is. Lindir’s already shaking as his lord collects the gift. The fabric tumbles from his hands and joins the growing fortress along the left side. Elrond sets it gingerly down and sucks in a long breath, closing his eyes and clearly steadying himself, before he adds, “I must apologize, dear Lindir. My mortal failings have commandeered you again.”

Lindir shakes his head and bites the inside of his lip to keep his fond smile from growing. He doesn’t mean to patronize his beloved lord, but Elrond is so very _cute_ like this, and Lindir would not change a single thing about him. “My duty is to serve you, Lord Elrond. Whether it is here or in your study, it is the same to me.”

Elrond dips his head in acquiescence. It’s unlikely he would give in so easily if he were in his usual state. They both know his wisdom far outmatches Lindir’s. But Lindir’s devotion wins out in this circumstance, and Lindir bows low to hide the blushing delight that’s overrun his face. 

When he straightens again, he keeps his gaze lowered. He promises, “I will bring you anything else I can find. Then I shall refill your water and fetch a warm cloth. And I will stay outside your quarters through the night—you need only call to me if you wish for anything.”

Another respectful bow, and Lindir steps back, ready to retreat. But Elrond’s hand flies out and snatches his wrist with the quick skill of a warrior. 

Lindir’s breath catches. Elrond’s touch is fire-hot. Elrond’s white robes have fallen a little more open with the movement, and it reveals the taut skin of his chest fully flushed. His dark hair streams down his shoulders, his circlet set aside, but the same noble countenance is in his eyes as always. He informs Lindir, “There is only one more thing I have need of in my nest.”

Fully enchanted, Lindir whispers, “Anything, my lord. Name it, and I will bring it.”

Elrond chuckles. The sound envelops Lindir in a giddy warmth. Elrond gives him a little tug and tells him, “It is company.”

Lindir stumbles against the edge of the bed. He’s _on fire._ He makes himself mutter, “Name them, whoever you wish, and I shall—”

“It is _you_ , my songbird. I ask for you.”

Lindir’s trembling. Elrond’s never asked that before. Not of anyone for as long as Lindir’s been there. 

But Elrond has smiled at him and touched his hand, and sung along to his music. And the past year Lindir’s been bolder than anytime before, because he’s slowly breaking down—he’s resisted for so long and it’s so very difficult when he’s so deeply in love. 

He’s never been able to deny his lord anything. He gives a shaken nod and climbs over the gate of pillows, right into Elrond’s waiting arms.


End file.
